Peekaboo!
by racefh853629
Summary: "Who are you?" "The unarmed man you're currently holding at gunpoint."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I think I've kinda been in a crossover mood lately... haha. I don't own NCIS: Los Angeles, Psych, CBS, USA, or any other known entity. This story's short, only 3 chapters, but I hope you guys enjoy it. Please review!

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Chapter 1

He was staring down the barrel of a gun, though his captor didn't seem all that intent on using it. Cold, curious blue eyes meeting silly, even more curious brown ones. The brown ones darted around the barren room, taking in his surroundings.

"Dude, you need some decorating tips," the brown-eyed man said.

Nothing but a cold glare from old blue eyes.

"I mean it. There's nothing in here."

"I don't need things," the older, blue-eyed man answered sharply. "Who are you?"

"The unarmed man you're currently holding at gunpoint."

A grunt, followed by the clicking back of the hammer. "Who are you?" Each word enunciated to the point of them being their own sentence made the younger man swallow slightly.

"I was hired to find you," he said.

"By who?"

"Someone that thought I couldn't do it. I mean, you've got no real trail of existence. Only known whereabouts was somewhere in Los Angeles. Makes for a tough find."

"Who hired you?"

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Again, with the accenting? Seriously, I don't see the point of it. You're pointing a gun at me. You really don't need to do that."

The older man grunted out a sigh. "Tell me who hired you."

The younger man shrugged. "I didn't get his name. My associate might have, for payment purposes, but he doesn't let me handle the account. You know what this moment needs? Pineapple smoothies. You want one? You can pay this time. I'll get the next one."

The hammer clicked against an empty chamber.

"Yeah, next time you wanna point a gun at someone, make sure the clip is loaded." The younger man pulled a handful of bullets out of his pocket. "First place I looked."

The older man narrowed his eyes. Mostly because he had expected the younger man to be more threatened by the weapon, since the older one knew it was unloaded by the weight of it. He dropped the weapon, reaching for a second one hidden in the coffee table.

The younger man smiled. "Second place I looked," he added, watching the older man glare at the unloaded gun. When the older man pulled a small knife out from behind a plant on the mantle, the younger man inhaled sharply.

"Didn't find that one, did you?" the older man snapped.

"Okay, okay, you got me." He held his hands up in concession.

"Who hired you?"

"I just told you, I don't know his name. My associate might, but I don't."

The older man groaned. "Where is your associate?"

"Still in Santa Barbara," the younger man replied. "It's about an hour or so drive on my bike. He was too busy doing something else, and he didn't want to come up here. Said he didn't trust the guy who hired us. I don't know. He looked like a decent guy."

"What did he look like?"

"Older than my dad. Said he wanted to find you."

The older man narrowed his eyes. "Why would someone hire _you_ to find _me_?"

The younger man smiled. "Because I specialize in finding people who don't exist. Well, that, and eating pie. Which, by the way, I'm hungry. Do you have anything?" He made a move toward the kitchen, but was stopped by the older man and knife. "Seriously, dude. What kind of host are you?"

"I'm not a host. _You_ broke into _my_ house."

"Well, it's not breaking in if the door's unlocked."

The other man glared, flinching his hand tighter around the knife. "It wasn't unlocked earlier when you apparently broke in to steal the bullets out of my guns."

"Okay, okay," the younger man conceded. "Truth?"

"That'd be better for you," the older man replied.

"My name is Shawn Spencer. I'm a psychic detective from Santa Barbara. An older-looking guy hired me to find you. He was a lot taller than you, about 60 but not quite, white hair, brown eyes. Scab on the forehead, walked with a slight limp. Sounded like a heavy smoker. Didn't smell like it, though. The Super Smeller hinted at some Old Spice mixed with cinnamon. And now, I could go for some cinnamon."

The older man knit his brow together. "The Super Smeller?"

"That's… hard to explain."

He shook his head. "How did you find me?"

Shawn shrugged. "It's kind of my thing."

The older man glared again. "How did you…"

"Yeah, yeah," Shawn said. "A little bit of this." He held his right hand to his head. "And a whole lot of that." He held his left hand to his head.

The other man simply shifted grip on the knife.

"Okay, okay. I _may_ have had a little help," Shawn conceded.

"From who?" the other man replied.

"The spirit world. I'm a slave to my visions."

"I don't believe in psychics."

"Believe what you will, Serious Guy With an Arsenal in His House."

The older man sighed, shelving the argument for the moment. "And you don't know who it is that hired you."

"We can call my associate and ask."

"And what is the name of this associate?"

"Jerry Maguire."

The older man rolled his eyes, while Shawn dialed Gus's number. "Speakerphone," the older man said.

Shawn obliged as the phone answered, _"Burton Guster."_

"Hey, buddy," Shawn said.

"_What now, Shawn?"_

"Remember that job we just got hired for?"

"_To find that guy in Los Angeles?"_

"Yeah. Who hired us?"

"_Uh, I'll look."_ The two men in the room listened as Gus was typing on the other side of the phone. _"Wait. Since when do you care who hires us?"_

Shawn paused, thinking of an answer.

"_You found him, didn't you?"_

"I asked you if you wanted to come to L.A. with me," Shawn said.

"_Uh, no, you didn't."_

Shawn cut a glance over to the man with the knife. "Dude, trust me on this one. You might be better off not being here."

"_What?"_

"Just, give me the name."

"_Shawn…"_

"Gus, I'm fine. Who hired us?"

"_Lester Callen."_

The older man's eyes grew slightly wider, something that didn't go unnoticed by Shawn. "Who's Lester Callen?" Shawn asked his captor.

"I don't know a Lester Callen," he replied.

"_Wait, you're there with him?"_ Gus asked into the phone. _"Seriously?"_

"Well, you should've come."

"_You didn't tell me you were going."_

"Not now, Gus." Shawn turned back to the man in the room with him. "Why is Lester Callen so important to you?"

The older man finally lowered the knife, opting to grab his phone instead of acknowledging Shawn's question. "Did you guys even check out this client before you agreed to the job?" he asked.

"…Gus?" Shawn asked.

"_I told you we should've run it by Juliet or Lassiter,"_ Gus replied.

Shawn turned back to the older man. "I'm sensing that your name isn't really Fred Curtis."

He simply looked at Shawn as he put his phone up to his ear. "Hetty, we have a problem," he said into the phone, turning his back to Shawn.

"_How did you find him?"_ Gus asked.

Shawn smiled. "We'll talk about this later, bud."

He hung up the phone, turning back to Shawn. "We need to leave," he said. "And you need to hang up the phone."

Shawn shrugged, doing as the older man asked. "Since your name isn't Fred Curtis, do I at least get to know what it is?" he asked.

The older man glared slightly. "Shut up," he replied.

"Okay, but you should know, I don't follow directions well."

A third gun was produced from a spot previously unknown to Shawn. "Let's go."

For the first time in a long time, Shawn easily obliged.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: See the first chapter for the disclaimer. I hope you all enjoy this one, and please review. :)

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Chapter 2

The gun went away as Shawn was shoved into the boat shed, where he found four other people staring at him. The shortest of the group was also the oldest, and someone he immediately recognized as the leader. The other woman and the scraggly looking guy were obviously partners, though he wasn't sure if it was more like Jules and Lassie, or Lassie and the first one. And then the other guy in the room was definitely ex-military.

What the hell had he gotten mixed up in?

"Someone want to tell me what's going on?" Shawn asked the assembled group. "Because, really, if you're gonna shoot me or something, I'm gonna have to warn you. Been there, done that. I could show you the scar, if you're interested…"

"No one's interested," the younger woman said.

"Who the hell are you?" military-guy asked.

"Shawn Spencer, psychic detective," Shawn replied. "Perhaps you've heard of me."

"Assisted on several cases for the Santa Barbara Police Department," the older woman said.

"Okay, so you have heard of me. Don't feel bad that I found you. I mean, I found an ex-spy who specialized in taking himself off the grid."

"I'm well aware of your accolades, Mr. Spencer. What I'd like to know is who hired you."

"He told my partner he was Lester Callen."

"You said he was older looking but not quite," the first man he met said. "What do you mean?"

"Can I at least know some names first?" Shawn asked.

"No. What did you mean by 'older looking but not quite'?"

Shawn sighed. "I… sensed that he was wearing makeup." _Seeing as how it wasn't the right color with the rest of his skin tone…_ "And a white wig." _His hair was brown underneath…_ "But the limp was genuine. And so was the scab on the forehead. I'm sensing he was in trouble." _Because he was twitchy and compulsively looking around._ "He asked me to find Fred Curtis for him."

"What did he want with Fred Curtis?" military-guy asked.

"He didn't say," Shawn replied. "I sensed that he was looking for Fred's help."

The older woman's phone beeped, and she ducked out of the room to answer it.

"So, what, secret society?" Shawn asked. "Cult? What do we got going on here?"

The four looked at one another.

The older woman walked back into the room. "As much as I'd like to know what is going on with this situation, we have another dire one," she said.

"What is this more dire situation?" Shawn asked.

"No," the first man he met said as he checked his own phone's alert.

"I could help."

The four looked at the older woman, who said nothing at first. Shawn had already figured out the hierarchy: older woman, guy who's house he visited, military guy, younger woman, scraggly guy. Who kinda fit in with the group, but was definitely different. He just didn't know how yet. At least, not until the other two checked their phone alerts, and Scraggly didn't have to.

Afterthought.

"What agency do you all work for?" Shawn asked. "Well, all except for you." He gestured to Scraggly.

No one said a word.

"Not CIA. CIA doesn't work with locals, which I'm guessing you are," he pointed at Scraggly. "LAPD?"

Scraggly looked at the older woman, who nodded slightly. He could see her mind realizing they were already compromised from the fact that he made it to one of their houses. They might as well level with him. As well as her thinking that maybe he could help with whatever dire situation had come up.

"Detective Marty Deeks," Scraggly introduced himself.

"I'm Agent Hetty Lange," the older woman said. "Agents Kensi Blye, Sam Hanna, and the man who's house you broke into is Agent Callen."

Shawn nodded almost understandingly. "Which is why Lester Callen bugged you," he said to Callen.

"Yeah," Callen agreed.

"Shelving that mystery for the moment," Hetty said. "We have a missing agent. Perhaps, Mr. Spencer, since you're so good at finding people, you would be able to give us some assistance?"

Shawn nodded, taking from her solemn nature that this was more than your typical missing agent problem.

"Who's missing?" Callen asked quickly.

"Nate."

A cloud came down on the group, and Shawn gathered immediately that this agent was a friend. "He used to work here?" he deduced.

"For a while," Kensi said reverently.

"Where was he?" Callen asked.

"We lost contact with him in the Middle East," Hetty explained. "There was a bombing in his hotel four days ago. We haven't heard from him since."

"Missing, not dead?"

"He wasn't among the recovered bodies. One of our allies said they saw him leaving the scene after the blast, but we don't know where he went from there."

"Was he injured?"

"Undetermined."

Shawn's mind was reviewing the information when a thought struck him. "Do you have a picture of this missing agent?" he asked.

Hetty nodded to Callen, who showed Shawn the picture.

"He's gotta still be in the Middle East," Sam said. "I'll start hitting up some contacts over there."

"I want to take a look at this blast evidence," Kensi said.

Shawn furrowed his brow as he stared at the smiling face of Nathan Getz. A doctor, according to the photo's caption. Either from his NCIS file or from the missing person's report. But Shawn had all he needed just from looking at the photograph.

"I'm sensing he's not still in the Middle East," he said to the group of agents that were starting to disperse.

"Really?" Sam asked sarcastically. "And where, exactly, do you sense he is?"

Shawn simply looked at him.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: See first chapter for the disclaimer. This is the last (short) chapter, and I'm glad you guys enjoyed this as much as I did. Thanks for reading. I hope you guys enjoy this one, and please review. :)

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Chapter 3

Gus made his way into the Psych office, holding bags full of food, as the group of five trudged in behind Shawn. "Jerk chicken?" Shawn asked.

"And the other stuff you all asked for," Gus replied. "Burton Guster," he introduced to the others.

"Callen," he said. "Sam, Hetty, Kensi, Deeks." He pointed at each one as he spoke, before turning back to Shawn. "You said the answer was here, at the office. All I see are toys and desks."

"And a pineapple," Shawn added, pointing at one that sat atop the fridge.

Callen took a deep breath. "Don't waste our time. What did we need to come back here for?"

"Wait for iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit…."

No sooner had Shawn finished his grandstanding, the older man who had previously identified himself as Lester Callen limped into the room. Lester kept his head down, watching closely where he stepped. "You said you found Fred Curtis?" he rasped, still not looking up.

"Just as I sensed Fred Curtis wasn't who you were," Shawn said, pointing at Callen. "I'm sensing Lester Callen isn't who _you_ are." Shawn walked over to the man, who was just starting to pick up his head. "Man, I've always wanted to do this." He tugged the wig off of Lester's head, revealing much darker, albeit very messy, hair. Without the wig, it was apparent who this man really was.

Dr. Nathan Getz.

Nate sighed as he straightened up the best he could. Pain was still evident throughout his features, and being somewhat hunched and crumpled really was the most comfortable position for him. Kensi stepped forward, brushing a strand of longer hair off of his forehead before hugging him gently.

"We were worried about you, Nate," Hetty told him.

"What the hell happened?" Sam asked.

Nate sighed, looking over at Shawn and Gus before turning back to Hetty. "I'm sorry to bring them into it," he said to her more than anyone else. His voice was still raspy, though not the heavy-smoker voice he had used when he first met Shawn and Gus. "There wasn't any other way to contact you."

"There are protocols," Hetty scolded lightly.

"We were compromised out there, Hetty," Nate explained. "I didn't know who I could trust. So, I snuck out of the country and made my way down here. I'd heard about this place, figured if anyone could get a message to you guys, it'd be them. Hetty, we weren't made because we did anything wrong. Someone outed us."

"Who?"

Nate shook his head slowly. "I don't know. But they didn't bomb our hotel at random."

"Are you hurt?"

He shrugged. "Not too bad, I guess. If it was, I wouldn't have made it this far."

She afforded a slight smile at that. "We will have you checked out, then we will get to work on the leak."

"We can help," Shawn offered.

"Mr. Spencer, you've done quite enough," Hetty said. "I thank you for your assistance in bringing Nate back to us. We are indebted to you."

Shawn frowned. "So, no pineapple smoothies?" he asked Callen.

"Break into my house again, I'll turn you into a smoothie," the older man threatened.

"Fair enough." As the group went to leave, Shawn stopped them. "NCIS, right?"

Kensi furrowed her brow. "How did you…?" she started.

Shawn simply smirked.

As the agents filed out of the office to solve their current problems, Gus turned to Shawn. "How did you know?" he asked as they started eating.

"They're feds who work with locals," Shawn started. "Deeks is LAPD. Also, they operate overseas. Only a handful of agencies do both. They're secretly based in LA, they pride themselves on living in the shadows, makes them undercover operators. And, their safe house is a boat shed."

"What is NCIS?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

Gus furrowed his brow. "How do _you_ know about them? I've never even heard of them."

Shawn chuckled. "Remind me to tell you about the time I ran into Special Agent Gibbs…"

The End


End file.
